


Roles Reversed

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, During Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-19
Updated: 2006-10-19
Packaged: 2018-09-03 03:55:45
Rating: Teen & Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8695534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: "He woke up to the feel of something trembling against his body. It took a second for the cobwebs of sleep to clear enough for him to realise that it was Dean, clutching at him and shaking as if he was a living earthquake."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

Title: Roles Reversed  
Author: Kali  
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean  
Rating: PG13  
Category: Angst  
Word Count: 867  
Spoilers: None  
Summary: _He woke up to the feel of something trembling against his body. It took a second for the cobwebs of sleep to clear enough for him to realise that it was Dean, clutching at him and shaking as if he was a living earthquake._   
Notes/Warnings: I am really not sure about the beginning of this ficlet, but I decided I liked it enough to post it. Comments and con crits are loved as always.  
  
  
“Why do you always wander for twenty minutes before going to bed?” Dean mumbled into his pillow and Sam grinned at the picture his brother presented. He had literally collapsed face-first onto the bed, limbs sprawled and boxers riding low on his hips. There was a bruise on his shoulder from last night’s fight, now a truly lovely shade of purple-blue, and Sam knew that he had a small cut just on his hairline, two butterfly stitches and Dean had still complained about being tragically scarred for life.  
  
“Just making sure everything’s safe,” he replied, walking over to the door and checking the salt before re-tracing the protection symbols on the door itself. The wood burned under his fingertips and he nodded in satisfaction. Then he walked into the tiny bathroom and made sure that the window was secure.  
  
“Christ, would you come to bed already?” Dean grumbled, and Sam smiled again but obediantly stripped off his tee shirt and crawled onto the bed, tugging the sheets out from underneath Dean’s body.  
  
“You worry too much,” Dean mumbled, rolling onto his side so that he could mould himself against Sam’s body. Sam thought that he would never get used to how touchy-feely Dean was in bed. It was like he saved it all up during the day just so that he could cling so hard to Sam at night.  
  
“One of us has to,” Sam replied softly, feeling Dean rest his cheek against his shoulder, his breath tickling his skin.  
  
“Got a knife under my pillow, that’s enough.”   
  
“Shut up, Dean.”  
  
Dean ‘mmmm’ed into his shoulder, shifting a little so that there wasn’t even a molecule of space between their bodies, and Sam waited until he was certain Dean was asleep before finally allowing himself to relax and drift off into a pleasant, dreamless sleep.  
  
He woke up to the feel of something trembling against his body. It took a second for the cobwebs of sleep to clear enough for him to realise that it was Dean, clutching at him and shaking as if he was a living earthquake.   
  
“Dean? What’s wrong?”   
  
Dean’s body shuddered a harsh, gasping sound slipped from his lips and it was as if something broke inside him. “God, Sammy, tell me you’re alive. Tell me… tell me I didn’t fail. Tell me tell me tell me…”  
  
Sam frowned and shifted them around so that he was lying on his back, Dean on top of him and not caring that he was slightly too heavy to make breathing easy. He didn’t have to ask again what was wrong and he closed his eyes, feeling his heart give a painful little thump because he hated this, hated seeing Dean so broken down and vulnerable.  
  
“It’s okay, Dean,” he murmured, rubbing his brother’s back in soothing circles, feeling how fever-hot and sweat-slick his skin was. “It’s alright, I’m alive, it’s okay. It was just a nightmare, a bad dream, yeah? It’s alright, I’m okay. I’m okay, Dean.”   
  
It wasn’t the first time they’d gone through this, though it didn’t happen nearly as often as Sam’s own nightmares, but they’d worked out a routine, a pattern, and Sam knew each step by heart. First came the words, quiet and meaningless, just pretty sounds to give Dean something to latch on to, anchor him in the real world. Then came the touching, frantic hands sliding over his body and tangling in his hair and hot breath on his skin as Dean touched every inch of him, seeking out wounds that weren’t there, scars that had faded long ago.  
  
“It was a dream?” Dean breathed against his chest, the last step in this twisted dance, and Sam tightened his hold on his brother.  
  
“Yeah,” he murmured. “Just a dream.”   
  
He felt Dean’s breath go out in a relieved, weary sigh, and waited for Dean to fall asleep again. It didn’t take long, fear and adrenaline had been too much for his already exhausted body, but Sam stayed awake for a long time after, thinking to himself.  
  
He woke up to the sound of the shower running and he groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face before reluctantly opening his eyes. Dean was singing in the shower, just loud enough for Sam to make out the words to ‘Nothing Else Matters’. Sam sat up, stretching and feeling something in his back crick.  
  
“You awake, Sammy?” Dean shouted, and Sam didn’t even bother wondering how Dean had guessed.  
  
“Yeah, what time is it?”   
  
“Just after eight. Get your ass in gear, baby brother, we gotta cover a few hundred miles today if we wanna get to Ottumwa before night falls.”   
  
Sam grunted, but didn’t move from the bed until Dean strolled out of the bathroom, holding a small towel under his waist, and Sam just looked at him, a crooked half-smile on his face. Dean smirked and paused just long enough to give him a slow, languid kiss. Sam arched up into it, one hand resting on Dean’s hip, but then Dean was drawing away, nipping at his lips, before smacking his arm.  
  
“Move your ass, Sammy,” he ordered. “Gotta get moving.”   
  
Sam grinned and shook his head. “Yes, Sir.”


End file.
